Flight
by owlcroft
Summary: Whatever did happen to Sarah anyway? A follow-on to "Whistler's Pride".


A/N: Many thanks to those betas _par excellence_ – Cheride and L.M. Lewis.

FLIGHT

by

Owlcroft

"She oughtta be here any minute now." McCormick stepped out into the driveway and peered as far as he could around the curve. Seeing nothing yet, he stepped back and swept a few more leaves off the steps. "I still can't over her meeting a professor at the airport. I'd've been glad to go pick her up, y'know."

"I know," said Hardcastle absently. "It was serendipity, him driving back to Pepperdine. Saved one of us a trip. Hey, you gonna tell her right off, or wait a while?" He turned to the younger man expectantly.

"_Me_?!" An outraged McCormick tossed the broom aside and faced the judge squarely. "_I'm _not gonna tell her. _You're – _" he pointed an emphatic finger, "gonna tell her."

"Me?" Hardcastle assumed a fake expression of deep surprise, placing an outspread hand on his chest. "I thought we decided you were gonna break it to her. Remember, last night?"

"Hah! What _we _decided last night was that it's _–_" Mark starting ticking items off on his fingers, "_your_ house, _your _garage, _your _decision, _your _stupid crime fighting ... What in the world did _I _ have to do with any of it?"

The judge glared right back at him. "Well, _you're _the one responsible for taking care of him _–_"

"Only because _you_ told me I had to!" Mark broke off suddenly to wave at the car slowly approaching the fountain. "It's your horse, so _you _have to tell her!" he whispered fiercely.

The car stopped, Sarah obviously thanking the driver, and Hardcastle and McCormick jostled each other to be the one to open her door for her.

"Sarah!" they exclaimed at the same time, Mark winning the battle for the door handle, but the judge managing to extend his arm to help her out.

"Hmmph. Arguing, as usual. My bags are in the back, Mark. Your Honor, this is Professor Howry, who was kind enough to offer me a ride."

Hardcastle thanked Howry effusively while McCormick collected the suitcase and overnight case from the back of the sedan. As Howry waved and drove off, Sarah settled herself, and cast a critical eye over the parts of the estate in view.

"At least the house is still standing," she said wryly. "Just put those in my suite, Mark. I'll unpack after I've inspected the kitchen."

"Sure thing, Sarah," was the response, with a pointed look at the judge and an elbow to the ribs that was deftly deflected by the retired jurist. "I'll just get these in there _right_ _now_." Another look, with raised eyebrows this time, and he started up the brick steps to the front door.

Hardcastle cleared his throat and smiled at the petite woman frowning at the hedges. Just as he opened his mouth, she spoke again.

"Those need trimming, Your Honor. I thought you were going to keep an eye on things while I was gone. And there's a funny smell." She paused and raised her head, concentrating on the aroma. "Familiar, somehow."

The judge grinned jovially, rubbing his hands together. "Well, we got kind tied up in one of my cases, ya know. And that reminds me, I got something to tell you that you might think is kinda ... funny. Ya see, there was the guy I knew, an old bookie, named _–_"

"It's _horse_, that's what that smell is." Sarah turned an astonished look to Hardcastle. "Do you have a _horse_ here?"

"Ah, well, that's what _–_" He found himself talking to thin air, as Sarah stalked around the side of the house to the garage.

Mark was already there, smiling nervously. "So, he told you, huh?"

A whinny came from within the closed garage.

"Told me what? That you two have hidden a horse in the garage?" Sarah frowned at him. "What in the name of Creation do you two think you're doing? Open that door immediately!"

McCormick jumped to obey as she continued.

"Horses don't like being kept in dark, confined places any more than people do. Honestly, Your Honor, I thought you had more sense."

Hardcastle grunted and shrugged. "It's just for a coupla hours. McCormick hasn't finished mucking out the garden shed yet."

The garage door opened, and a small bay face peered out. Whistler's Pride was tethered to the work bench and now the garage would have to be mucked out as well.

"Oh, you're a little beauty, aren't you," said Sarah softly. She approached the tiny equine slowly, extending a hand for him to sniff. "I've always been fond of bays, you know."

Neither of the men knew if she was talking to the Whistler or to them, but things seemed to be going a lot better than they'd expected.

Sarah and the Whistler were quickly becoming a mutual fan club. "None of those flashy palominos for me," the housekeeper cooed. "Those impossibly white stallions. No, indeed, a little bay gelding is the best horse of all, aren't you." She rubbed the velvety nose, then turned to Mark. "Do you have any apples in the kitchen? Or a carrot or two?"

This time the judge failed to dodge Mark's elbow. "See," crowed McCormick. "I told you she wouldn't mind!"

ooooo

"So, anyway," Mark carefully emptied the handful of crumbs into the trash, "Casey's gonna move him up to Wheatland next weekend, and until then he seems to be pretty happy in the shed." He draped the dishtowel over the sink divider and leaned against the counter to watch Sarah finish loading the dishwasher. "That was a great lunch. The meatloaf was the best I've ever had. I'd've never thought of putting roasted peppers in it."

Sarah smiled up at him. "My sister tried it while I was there and it really helped keep the meatloaf moist. I'm glad you liked it."

He smiled back. "We missed you, Sarah. Did I say 'welcome home'?"

"Not more than three or four times." She was suddenly somber.

Not understanding the change in atmosphere, McCormick tried another topic. "How'd you learn about horses, anyway? Did you grow up with them?"

"Oh, no, not really. I loved them when I was a girl, but we couldn't afford one. A friend of mine had a pony, though and she let me ride him and take care of him on weekends." Sarah bustled over to the coffee maker and started a fresh pot. "Are those cookies I took out of the freezer thawed yet?"

Mark sampled one judiciously. "I'm not sure. I'll have to have another one to tell." He grinned at her impishly.

She swatted his hand away from the plate of cookies and picked it up to take into the den. "Can you bring the pot and the cups when the coffee's done?"

McCormick nodded, reached around her as she pushed open the swinging door, and just managed to nab another oatmeal raisin. "Be right there," he grinned at her mock outrage.

_It's really nice to have her back_, he thought, munching blissfully. _**Not**__ just 'cause of the cookies_, he snorted to himself, _and the meatloaf and the mashed potatoes! __It's just nice to have her home again._

The coffee maker made the burbling sound that meant it was nearly finished, so, still chewing, he loaded the cups, creamer, and sugar onto the tray and carried it down the hallway to the den doors. Just as he pushed the doors open and started down the steps, he heard Sarah say _–_

"So, Your Honor, I'm moving up to San Francisco permanently."

ooooo

They were all settled around the coffee table, cookie plate to one side.

"I thought you said your sister was fine." The judge shook his head. "Have we really pi_–_ um, ticked you off so much that you're leaving?"

Sarah smiled at his near misstep. "Of course not." She included McCormick in her gaze. "It's nothing either of you has done. It's me. When I was up there with my sister," she paused and thought for a moment. "It was like we were girls again. 'Let's go to the park. Did you see there's a Monet exhibition opening next week? I don't feel like cooking; let's try that new Chinese place down the street.' No responsibility, no schedule to keep. It was . . . freedom."

Hardcastle shifted uneasily. "Have you felt, um, confined here? Is it . . . have we put too much 'responsibility' on you? 'Cause if there's anything at all we can do, or change, we'll do it. You know that."

Mark nodded emphatically.

"No, indeed, Your Honor. I'm not making myself clear if you think that." She looked off into the distance briefly, then back at the two listeners. "It's more that all my life I've been devoted to . . . _someone_. And never think I've begrudged a moment of it. I loved being housekeeper here. I loved Mrs. Hardcastle, and I . . ."

The judge shifted even more uneasily and she smiled at him, gently. "But now, it's my turn. This time I'm going to choose for _myself_. What _I _want to do. And I want to branch out a little, to explore new things. I've always wanted to learn Latin; did you know that? And one of the colleges has an excellent course for 'senior citizens'. There are museums within walking distance of Susan's condo, libraries, coffee houses, the symphony, restaurants, wine bars, shops. I've already volunteered to work at a school library three times a week. It's all _new _and _different_. At my age, it's time I tried out some new things, don't you think?"

McCormick cleared his throat hesitantly. "If it's what you want, of course . . . But we'll miss you, Sarah."

"He's right," added Hardcastle gruffly. "What you want to do comes first. And he's right that we'll miss you. But, I think I understand. I do, really." He looked at her and nodded.

Sarah smiled her gratitude at him. "And there's also the fact that I've always been needed. Here," she said, very carefully not looking at either man, "nobody needs me anymore." An uncomfortable silence fell, then she added, "Your Honor, I'm going to ask for one last favor from you." Sarah looked down at her hands, clasped loosely in her lap. "That pretty little bay. I noticed there's an exercise saddle in the tack and I wondered if Ms. O'Bannon would mind if I took him down to the beach for a little run."

The judge snorted. "Hah! That's still _my _horse and my tack for another coupla days. You bet you can. We'll go saddle him up right now."

As the older man strode up the steps to the hallway, Sarah caught hold of McCormick's sleeve and pulled him aside. "I'm relying on you, Mark. Not just to see that he eats right or wears a jacket when the fog comes in." She looked at him meaningfully. "You know what I mean."

"Um, well," he stammered a bit, "if you think I can . . ." He trailed off, looking at her in a questioning manner.

"I _know_ you can do it." She patted his shoulder. "I've known for a while now. As I said, neither of you needs me anymore." She smiled serenely.

ooooo

Down on Seagull Beach, two men stood watching a horse and rider splashing through the surf in the early afternoon sun.

"She's gonna love it up there, ya know." McCormick grinned at the scene before him.

The judge heaved a sigh, then nodded. "Yeah, she will. And she deserves it. Besides," he smiled at the sight of The Whistler up to his fetlocks in foam, "we'll visit up there. It's not like she's moving to _Alaska_."

Down the beach, Sarah smiled joyfully, easing the Whistler into a gentle canter, her silvered hair flying in the wind.

_finis_


End file.
